Sherlock Short Stories
by seraphblades-and-wands
Summary: Short story's about a day in the life of a resident of 221B Baker Street. Telling the story of the friendship of two different men and there little adventures. Based off of headcanons.
1. Psycho

**This is just a collection of short storys based off of headcanons I found on the intent. I thought I might expand them a little into a short story, so thats what this is. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Psycho Sherlock POV**

Before I tell you this certain tale, you must know a simple equation for you simple mind. It goes like this: No case=Boredom. A little backstory on earlier in the day. Several frankly normal things happened, like John yelling at me for almost blowing the kitchen up and grinding up pig bones, because the hospital won't let me have human ones. We didn't have a case today, or the day before, or the day before that. It was what some people call a made life extremely boring for me, but allowed John to ask a girl on a date (he's still convinced I scared the last one off). They were going to have dinner or something. John, being what he calls a 'sensible human', was talking a shower. And again, I was bored. So I was going to have some fun.

The shower was running as as I wiped out Kyrie (my violin) and pulled out John's computer. I opened Google and did a quick search for a certain piece of music from a 1960's movies that Mother had made me watch as a child. She had made me watch many movies as a kid, but I remembered this one in particular for the scene where a young lady was taking a shower and was stabbed. The music was blood curtailing. So I researched some sheet music and played it in my mind palace before I tuned Kyrie and rosined the bow and started to screech out The Murder, standing right outside the bathroom door.

A loud thud came from inside the bathroom. "SHERLOCK!" Came John's battle cry. I heard the shower shut off, and I continued to play as a raging John came thundering out of the shower in just a bathrobe. He violently threw his lufa at me, causing soap suds and water too splat across my face. I laughed, and John yelled "There will be a dead body in this flat and it won't be the one you're hiding in the fridge!" I laughed even more at this.

Mrs. Hudson came in yelling incomprehensibly at us. I caught something about a gentlemen's club, but I was having too much fun too care. 221B Baker street was filled with the sounds of Kyrie, my laughter, John yelling, and Mrs. Hudson's frantic pleas for us too calm down. Soon we heard the sounds of police sirens as police cars and Gavin pulled up, racing into our flat and roaring at the very top of his lungs "NOBODY MOVE!" We all froze, waiting for what he would do next. "John, get some clothes on. Sherlock, sit down!" I sat down tentatively on the sofa as John went to go put some clothes on. After he finished changing, he joined me under Gabriel's outraged stare.

"You think this is funny?" John said, looking at me in outrage. I was still smiling like Mycroft with cake.

"Very." I said, plucking Kyrie's strings softly.

"All I have to say too you two is that was the strangest 999 call I have ever responded too. What on earth happened?"

"Sherlock decided it would be a good idea to play The Murder from Psycho while I was in the shower."

"I was bored."

"So why didn't you go shoot up a wall?"

"Because you told me not to do that."

There was a ring from the door bell. "That will be my date, that I was getting ready for before you so rudely interrupted."

"Boys, try to avoid the domestics. John, go get your date. Sherlock, if this happens again, I will be very tempted to call your brother." John got up and I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

"And what is he going to do? For head of the British government, he has surprisingly little control over his younger brother."

Gus sighed in defeat and I could hear the voice of a girl downstairs, "Why are there police outside your flat?"

"My flatmate is a bit, well,-"

"Mad? Insane? Psychotic?" I shouted down.

"I was going to say a brilliant man, but a bit of a danger magnet, who likes to play violin at the wrong time." I played a quick little jig just to prove it, then sat in silence for a while, even after Gilbert left, thinking about being a danger magnet. Not exactly the safest person to be around, but John didn't hold that against me. And I was thankful. Then I laughed, remembering the past half hour with relish.


	2. Sign Language

**I don't own Sherlock. Moftiss does. Contact them if you have any complaints about the show. But be warned. They probably don't care about your pain.**

 **John POV**

Sherlock is quite the smart man. But even he can get a little frustrated, sometimes with little, everyday takes, like the time he had to reteach himself to tie his shoelaces after deleting the information from him mind palace, to huge cases that could save lives, if only he had one more clue. When he gets frustrated, he mutters to himself, like there are voices in his head. He even signs in BLS, short for British Sign Language.

At our last case, a series of Jack the Ripper style murders, we went to the crime scene and he immediately started to walk in what looked like a series of aimless patterns, which probably made a lot of sense to him, but confused the rest of us. While I started to exam the body, I noticed that Sherlock has signing rapidly with his hands, muttering to himself. After he had solved the case (it was the boyfriend of the first murdered girl, then decided that that wasn't enough), I decided learn some words to see what was going on in Sherlock's head.

After some research and some practice, I got to thinking about why Sherlock would need to know Sign Language. He could have just learned it to keep the boredom away, but when was he ever going to use it? For a man with such a big head, he didn't like talking about himself, or his past. So I wasn't going to ask him. I was going to ask Mycroft.

"Hello this is Athena speaking how can I direct you call?" said Athena's voice from the phone.

"This is Doctor John Watson, I would like to speak with Mr. M. Holmes." If I was calling his personal number, which I would only do in emergencies, I would say it was just 'John', then tell him whatever mess Sherlock had got himself into this time. But all I wanted to know was why Sherlock knew sign language.

"How may I help you John? Is it Sherlock?" Asked Mycroft.

"Obviously it's Sherlock. Sometimes, when we're on a case, he starts muttering to himself, and signing in BLS. Why?"

A short silence, then Mycroft said "Our grandad used to live near us. He had a mind almost as fast as Sherlock's. Amazing man, had some great stories, but do too some hearing damage from World War Two, he was deaf. He could only talk to you, unless you knew BLS. So Sherlock, wanting to share his stories of deduction, learned the language, and talked to him. He came to crime scenes some times, and Sherlock would tell him everything without saying anything. One month, we had to stay at our grandparents house because our parents were of an a trip to America for Mother's math book. It was probably the best month of our lives. Sherlock is the only one who can replicate Grandmama's jam roly-poly. He doesn't cook anymore, it's a shame. Unfortunately, some time after that, Grandad died. It was the first death that Sherlock truly cared about." Mycroft sounded sad. Sherlock had gone too all of those crime scene and saw all those dead bodies, and he never really cared, until his grandfather died.

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"There's no need. All lives are lost, all hearts are broken. That's how the world works. Any more questions?" I knew the conversation was over. After we said our goodbyes, I hung up and just sat in my red chair, thinking about what young Sherlock would have been like.

 **1 Week Later**

An old woman had come into our flat asking if we could help her solve a case of people breaking into flats and apartments without stealing anything. We have had cases like this before, but Sherlock was desperate, and it would only take a total time of an hour to get to the crime scene, solve it, drive back, live in the relish, then be bored again. The flat we went too was occupied by Ms. Graymald.

Sherlock was doing it again, muttering and waving his hands around, too what any other person would have just looked like nervous jitters. I had researched important words that Sherlock might use, like 'murder'. He was standing in the middle of the living room, looking around, waving his hands. This is what I interpreted.

 _Woman, fire, valuables, money, children, unimportant, everyday, missing, cleaning._ I didn't know what any of this meant, but Sherlock started to walk around, opening drawers and closing them.

"Where do you keep your cleaning supplies?" Asked Sherlock, continuing to look through the resident's stuff.

"Under the sink." Sherlock threw open the doors to the cabinet and started looking through the cleaning supplies.

"Toilet cleaner, mirror shine, carpet cleaner, what's missing? Ah! The bleach!" He turned to Ms. Graymald and said: "Where do you keep your bleach?"

"Funny, it should be right there. I know for a fact that I just used it last week and put back where it belongs."

Sherlock stood. "Its been stolen, but why? Where are the other flats that have been stolen from? I need to know if the same thing had been stolen." Sherlock raced out of the flat, coat in hand, racing out the door. "Thank you." I said too Ms. Graymald, who nodded and showed me too the door, clearly not wanting us in her home anymore. I followed Sherlock, who was just racing into another flat.

"Oi!" Shouted the owner, a fat man in his forties. "What are you doing in my flat?"

"Where do you keep the bleach, Mr. Hold?" Sherlock said, looking around the kitchen.

"And why should I tell you that, creep?"

"Tell me where they are or I'll tell your wife you're having an affair."

"What did that man say, Scott?" Came a female voice from the stairs.

"It's in that cabinet." Muttered Mr. Hold. Sherlock smiled and went there the cabinet. Sure enough, the bleach was missing.

"What did he say, Scott?"

"Nothing, no need to worry love." Mr. Hold said. Sherlock smiled and started rattling all the ways he knew that Mr. Hold was seeing another woman, and as he was leaving, handed the wife a business card. "A lawyer for you." As we left, he turned to me. "We need to get to the hospital. See if they have had an increase of ingesting bleach."

We went to the hospital, and sure enough, the hospital had an increase of bleach patients. Sherlock interviewed some of them, all of whom were teen's, and found out that they had been dared by some friends to break to someone's house and steal the bleach, bring it back to rondevu, and drink it. As soon as there friends realized how bad it was, they took them too the hospital. A little more research proved an internet phenomenon of 'drinking bleach'. "There even more idiotic than the rest of the human race." Was the way Sherlock put it, and I must agree.

"How did you know too look for cleaning supplies?" I asked Sherlock when we were back at the flat.

"When there's a break in, people look for things they expect to be stolen, like jewelry and money. When they found that safe, they thought nothing had been taken. I realized that something may have been stolen, just not too important. So what's something that everybody has, but doesn't use everyday, so it would take them longer to realize its missing, long enough for them too forgotten the brake in and not make any connections? Cleaning supplies. What cleaning supplies are missing? Bleach. Case solved. The police will get there any second. I admit, I was hoping for it to be a bit bigger than a couple of stupid teenagers out to prove they won't step down from a dare."

So that's the bleach story. I had learned a lot about Sherlock just by being curious.

 **I was going to make it more than a couple of teenagers drinking bleach, but I want everyone reading this too know DO NOT DRINK BLEACH. PLEASE. If you have any headcanon suggestions, feel free to give them too me. Thanks for reading, and stay curious!**


	3. Rock and Roll

**I don't own Sherlock.**

 **Thank you Lovely whim for that story suggestion.**

 **Molly POV**

Alright, confession time. I had, okay, have a bit of a crush on Sherlock. Don't tell anybody, but that's the truth. Some people ask, "Why would you like such a jerk?" and the like, but he really does have a softer side. He also has an amazing singing voice. I don't think he even realize he's singing, but amazingly, he is. This is the first (and probably last) time I heard him sing.

The morgue is probably one of Sherlock's favorite places. Probably because dead bodies don't talk or think, but that's beside the point. Sometimes he asks me to get him a body, like the murder case of when an old woman's many cats scratched and bit her, and apparently, the cats had some strange disease, which the woman got. That's what's in the police reports, at least. Sherlock thinks it's murder. He asked me to get the body out, so I did.

He put his earbuds in, and turned his phone too one of the songs. I don't know what I was doing, just watching him, but he didn't seem to notice me. About half way through the song, the chorus started to play, and Sherlock, the brick wall, started to sing softly along. And it was a rock song! Sherlock Holmes, singing along too 'Wanted _Dead or Alive_ ', in his lovely baritones! I even got it on my mobile. I left before he could notice me, thank goodness.

Turns out, it was a murder, and Sherlock was right, as always.

 **I know that chapter is short, sorry (I'm so, so sorry), so I'll probably have another one later today. I would love to put the lyrics of 'Wanted Dead or Alive' on here, but one of those rule things got in the way. It's one of my favorite songs. Thanks for reading and suggestions are taken.**


	4. Dinner

**John POV**

"What are we going to dooo?" Moaned Sherlock, sitting in his chair. He had gone through ten books, two experiments, and several rants science . No cases, no cigarettes, nothing to do. The mighty Sherlock Holmes, once again defeated by boredom.

"We could eat, like any other normal person at this time." I told him, but only got a massive eye roll.

"Since when am I like any normal person. Besides, digestion slows me down."

"What about that one time you had cheese in your cereal? Or when you put melted chocolate on your pizza?"

"I have to eat, or I'll die. And that would be bad."

"And we wouldn't want that, Sherlock, would we?" I got up and pulled on my coat. "Come on, I know a good place."

He got up and turned to his scull. "Did I say something, Victor?" He asked it.

"Yes!" I shouted behind me as I hailed a taxi. Sherlock asked for the man's identification. He frowned slightly, but said thank you, and the taxi pulled away.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"The driver isn't registered as a taxi driver in London. What's more is he's one of Mycroft's men. I'll have to call him."

"So you memorised all of the registered taxi drivers in the city?"

"Yes, of course." He looked puzzled at the question, as if everyone memorised taxi drivers. I think he was a bit more paranoid than he was willing to admit about taxis. But after retiring from the army, I prefered other people drive for me.

 **Several Years Earlier**

Major Sholto climbed into a military vehicle under the heat of the Afghan sun. I got into the one behind him, was joined by some other soldiers, and we set off. My arm was throbbing again. Not too long ago, it had been shot, and I was being recalled home after I developed a limp. I were off to the air base, where I would be flown back home. At the time, I thought this was wonderful news. No more war, no more fighting, just a Londerns life for me.

We had only driving along for a few miles when an uproarious sound went off right next to me. An IED. No one had even noticed the bomb disguised as a box. This was not the first time an IED had gone off near me, but it was the first time it had gone of next too me. A pain shot through my leg, a pain like I never thought was possible.

"OUT! OUT! EVERYBODY OUT!" Came the booming voice of the Major Sholto. He was still injured, the side of his face burnt, and his left arm was in cast, but he was still helping soldiers away from blast. "CAPTAIN JOHN WATSON CAN YOU HEAR ME?" He shouted.

"Yes sir!" I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. My heart was still racing as I pulled myself up and looked around to asses the situation. My leg had something sticking out of it, which I was slightly worried about, but no one else seemed to be hurt.

"Captain, what do you do? Keep talking too me. Tell me what you would do in this situation." I looked down at my injury.

"Okay. Doesn't look too bad. Bulkley, looks like part of the bomb or the car, definitely metal, most likely dusty. Best course of action would be too keep it in place and try not to move it, it might have a barb or something similar in it. We should wait until we can get someone to operate on it. Not too much blood, so we shouldn't need too worry about bleeding to death." I said, feeling light headed. I had worked on many other injuries, but none of them had been my own. It was a little scary, seeing a large chunk of metal sticking out of your own body. My vision started to go a little blurry. I felt tired. My eyelids drooped, but I was snapped awake by a shouting in my ear.

"You have to say awake Captain, that's an order. I said, STAY AWAKE. How many muscles in the human ear?" Quizzed another doctor friend of mine.

"Six." I wheezed.

"What is the physical symptom of those who suffer blepharospasms?"

"Uncontrollable winking." My friend's continued quizzing me until we reached the base, where I was fixed up, told I would have a limp for probably the rest of my life. Sherlock proved them wrong.

 **Now**

When we arrived at the dinner, a nice casual place, with good food. As normal, we had to explain too the waiter that we were not a couple, and ordered some food. Sherlock ordered some strange things as always, this time it was a burger with peanut butter, and chips with honey. We talked about completely normal things like murder, kidnapping, and deducing all the people in the restaurant with us.

"It would be nice if we could talk about something other than violent deaths all the time, Sherlock." I said. Sherlock looked puzzled.

"What else would we talk about?"

"I don't know, maybe football?"

"Boring."

"But people give us strange looks if we talk about the many ways to kill the average person with there cell phone. Why don't we talk abo-" Suddenly Sherlock stood up, looking too his right. "Sherlock what-"

"Stop." He said loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear him. Everyone looked towards us. "You." He said, pointing to a man sitting across from a woman.

"Me?" Asked the man, pointing to himself.

"Yes, the one who's cheating on his wife and is lying to his parents about it. What did you put in your date's drink?" The man looked alarmed.

"I would never-"

"Oh, shut up." He walked over to the couple and sniffled the woman's drink. "Smells normal." He turned to the man. "Empty all your pockets." The man emptied his pockets. "When I say all, it means including the hidden one in your jacket that you sewed in yourself."

A look of defeat crossed the man's face as he revealed a small bag of white pills. "Illegal sleeping agents. I'll confiscate these. John-" He turned to me. "Call Graham."

"His name is Greg."

"Just do it." I pulled out my phone and dialed Greg's number, telling him what happened, then hung up. "He says he'll be here shortly."

"What are you, police?" The man asked. The woman had moved away from him, and we still had the entire restaurant attention. Sherlock flipped out a piece of paper and showed it too the man. "Pretty much." Sherlock said. The man muttered to himself, and sat in his chair with his arm crossed and face in a child's pout.

"Did you show him Greg's badge?" I asked.

"No, I don't have his badge any more, Mycroft 'borrowed' it again." Sherlock sounded annoyed. "I showed him this." He showed me a piece of paper that looked exactly like what Scotland Yard had, but with Sherlock's information.

"How'd you get that?" I asked him.

"Psychic paper. Shows them whatever I want them too see."

"I thought that was just on the TV show." I ask, quite confused.

He cleared his throat, then said, "Look, the police are here. They'll want to know what happened." Sure enough, the police had arrived right then, and they arrested the man. Even on an ordinary night, going out for dinner, Sherlock manages to save the day.

 **So there you go. Sherlock obviously got (or stole) the psychic paper from The Doctor, he might appear later, but this focuses on Sherlock, so we won't have too much. Also, the skull is name 'Victor' after Victor Hugo, a character in the original series, and might come up in series four. And a side note, burgers with peanut butter are really good. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!**


	5. Lost Friends

**I don't own Sherlock.**

 **John POV**

There a lot to say about losing a friend, and I can speak from experience about losing a friend right in front of you. I'm a war doctor, so I know a lot about loss. But I'll never have a friend like Sherlock, and I had too bloody loose him to. He had his flaws, but deep down he really cared. Almost everyday he helped someone, even if he wan't very nice to the people he was helping.

All of these deaths have had an impact on me, from the first person to die under my knife, to the last person I saw killed in combat. But none have changed me like Sherlock's death. He took his own life for a lie. And I don't understand how a bloody genius could jump of a building and not find some estranged way of surviving. I just wish he wasn't dead.

The many people I lost are right next to my heart. I have a piece of paper holding all the names and ages of all the people I saw die, in front of me, and I'm sad it say there's a lot of names on that list. And Sherlock is one of them. Sherlock Holmes, age 27, best friend, lifesaver. I was his friend, and I just stood there, watching, not doing anything. It's one of my biggest regrets, and I don't know if I could ever forgive myself. I was so sad and depressed when Mike Stamford introduced me to Sherlock, that I was thinking about suicide myself. But I thought, 'Hey why not try this out', and I don't regret it. In a way, Sherlock saved my life, and I just wish I could have saved his.

 **Another short one. Hope you enjoyed, and remember that suggestions are welcomed!**


	6. Prank Wars and Violin music

**I don't own Sherlock.**

 **Greg POV**

Before you ask, yes, I am a good football player, and yes I have five kids, all in one house, and they can be a hand full! We all have our ways to cool down, and mine is watching the telly. American telly (or TV, do they really call it that?) is my favorite, particularly the show Supernatural. Sam and Dean and their angel friend Cas, fighting demons in the American midwest, it's great.

Similarly, I found out from John that Sherlock has a bit of an obsession with the BBC show Doctor Who. Although an alien saving the earth from unannounced threats sounds a lot like Sherlock himself.

I was going to the Yard one day, sometime after the Hounds of Baskerville case, and found myself thinking about the show. Maybe I should have taken that as a warning, but I didn't think any about it. A few seconds later, I got a text message from Donovan asking me if I was on my way. I told her yes, and asked her why. She said someone was in my office waiting for me. I pulled into the Yard parking lot just as I got that message. Something in me just knew it was Sherlock.

I walked into the building and went to my office. I opened the door and nothing was disturbed or different in any way. I sat down in my chair and it was a good ten minutes of work before I finally looked up. And what I saw scared the living daylights out of me.

On the ceiling was Sherlock Holmes, in what I guests was his pajamas and trademark belstaff coat. I half expected him too light on fire, I swear my heart stopped for the longest time, and my jaw was to the floor. Finally he said "I'm bored up here, can I get down?" I wanted to sprint to the kicker and get some salt, then kill Sherlock right then and there, and I would have if John didn't walk in right then, doubled over laughing.

"Your face! Oh, I'm going to have too ask Mycroft too get me this! Hilarius!" He said, still laughing.

"How is he going to get down?" I asked, incredulous.

"Like this." Sherlock said, and the little brat just slipped out of his coat and landed on the desk, in his bare feet, disrupting all my papers. He then hopped down from the desk and turned towards me. "Tada!" He said, bowing.

"Why-how-what the devil-I'm-" I stuttered, not being able to understand what was happening. "SHERLOCK!"

"You have no idea how often I hear that." he said. "I lost a bet with John, so I got stuck on the ceiling."

"And what kind of bet was that?!" I said, exasperated.

"Early this morning, we couldn't sleep, so we played chess-jenga-cluedo. Whomever won the most games got to tell the other to do something. I bet I would win cluedo and jenga, but I lost jenga and was disqualified from cluedo for 'not following the rules', or something, but I did win chess. John told me too come in here and glue myself to the ceiling and wait for you. That was our bet. He knew you watched some TV show or another about people getting stuck to the ceiling or whatever, and wanted to scare you."

"Have you done this before?"

"Yep. All those little plastic camels that kept popping up, that was us. When all the photos of families and stuff around the office had Ricky Gervais's face taped to them, that was also us." Said John.

"I am going to make you regret this Sherlock, I will! Now out of my office!" They walked out off the office, laughing. I was seething, very angry. But I had a plan.

 **Sherlock POV**

"That was great!" I laughed, walking down the streets of London, without shoes, and in my pajamas.

"And his face! He was terrified!"

"I don't know if he was scared of me falling on him or just being on the ceiling." We continued laughing, getting some strange looks from morning Londoners, two men giggling, one without shoes and in their pajamas.

"They probably think we're drunk!" John said, still laughing as we got back to Baker Street.

"I wonder what Grant's revenge is going to be." I said, as we made breakfast.

"I have no idea, but he's a smart man, so it'll be something big. How do you want your eggs?" He asked.

"Benedict." I said, opening the morning paper. Boring as usual. Celebrity gossip, sports, politicians, blah, blah, blah. We ate breakfast in peace, and besides a few cases, the next week was boring. We had almost forgotten about the incident when Lestrade called us over to visit a crime scene.

It was a murder, a normal murder. We went into the house and looked around. I had a list of possibilities in my head, but I needed to see where the body was. Lestrade took us over to the closet, where the body was. I could see on his face that something was brewing before opening the door too the closet, he took out his phone and did what looked like texting someone, but I could tell it was something else. He slid his phone into his pocket and opened the door too the closet with a smirk on his face.

In the closet was a weeping angel, hands out stretched and stone eyes glaring. My heart went into overdrive and my eyes were frozen open and I yelled. This monster had come too get me because of the Doctor, and I had no idea what to do. This ancient race of stone horrors had come for me and I didn't have another angel to kill it with, or a sledge hammer or something that could break them. I was absolutely terrified.

Then I heard the laughing. Lestrade and John were laughing at was no real Weeping Angel, no quantum-locked person, just a prop that Lestrade had put out too get back at me for gluing myself to the ceiling of his office. I turned around slowly and walked out of the house. "I'm not solving this one for you, Lestrade!" I showed behind me. I'm really hating Scotland Yard right now.

 **John POV**

After Sherlock had left and me and Greg where having a drink, talking about the past weeks events. I told him I really was sorry about sticking Sherlock in the ceiling. He returned the coat that had been stuck there all week and they had just managed to pry it of. Apparently, we had given him quite the scare. He was about to go look for some salt to protect himself before I came in. He now has Sherlock's terrified yelp for his ringtone. Greg had no regrets about scaring Sherlock, but I felt a little bad.

I came back to Baker Street that night to Sherlock playing the violin, which made me feel even worse. I liked it, and wondered if Sherlock had composed it himself.

That night I had some army nightmares. I don't have them often, but when I do, they seem to be bad. Shots firing, dust swirling, it was bad, like always. Bad memories, coming back. I woke up to the never ending violin music. It was Antonin Dvorak's Symphony Number 9, my favorite. I had told Sherlock it was my favorite when he had asked, soon after we had moved in together. Sherlock was going to get an ear full about this in the morning. But when I fell back asleep, I had no more nightmares. I never know when to thank Sherlock or to strangle him. Sometimes it feels like both.

 **Weeping Angels are really scary. No exceptions. And I don't actually watch Supernatural, but I know a lot about it, so tell me if I got anything wrong. I have a goal of posting a chapter every other day or every day, but we'll see how that goes. I'm really bad at describing music, so have Sherlock be playing whatever you want in your head. The last part is sadly ironic because when Sherlock comes back, John doesn't know whether to strangle him or thank him for not being dead. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed.**


	7. First Meetings

**This takes place way before 221B Baker Street, possibly when Sherlock was a teen.**

 **I don't own Sherlock**

 **Sherlock POV**

Around town, I'm fairly well known for my particular ability to solve mysteries. But in London, not many people know me, so it's harder to get a case. Why was I in London, you may ask. I had to take 'a break', as Mother put it. I was going to see a long time family friend, Mickey Smith. He had moved to London after his father wandered off and his mother was deemed not fit to care for him to live

He greeted me at the door with a frown on his face. "Finally Sherlock, I thought you would never come." He welcomed us into his house and already he had cookies out. Mickey had the best cookies on the face of the planet, a recipe from his late grandmother. We ate them while they were still warm, and discussed why I was here. He had been accused of killing his girlfriend, Rose.

"You're going too think I'm mental, but what I say is the truth. Rose ran of with a time traveler."

"And?"

"You know last Christmas when a hole bunch of plastic mannequins came alive? That wasn't actually students like they said. It was the Nestene Consciousness, a big plastic blob. And this man, he calls himself The Doctor, says he's a 'Time Lord', was trying to stop it. But he was a little too late. All of those plastic creatures came alive and I got kidnapped and Rose came to save me, but ran of with The Doctor. He has this blue police box from the sixties, and calls it TARDIS, and claims it can time travel. I have no idea where she is and I don't even know if she's alive."

"You're going to have to come up with a better story than that. No adult is going to believe you."

"But you do, right?"

"You're story is all I have to go on, but it's a bit extreme. I have too believe you for the sake of progress. I already have some evidence that you didn't do it. But I need to speak with Rose's mother." Mickey took us the Jackie Tyler's flat, walking distance from where he lived.

"Do you think that Mickey killed Rose?" I said as soon as she opened the door.

"No. Who are you? Police? How old are you? Why are you asking about Rose?"

"That's all I needed." I turned around and walking away. Mickey was apologising to Ms. Tyler incessantly. "Come on Mickey! We have work to do." Mickey came running back and we went back to his flat. He gave me all the pictures of Rose and told me everything he could possibly remember and I began my work.

After about five minutes, I deduced this: Hypothetically speaking, if she really had run of with a 'Time Lord', with a time traveling 'TARDIS', then this 'TARDIS' could be malfunctioning, or something could have been miscalculated. It's time travel, so while it might be a few days to her, it might be a year to you. It could also be the other way around.

The body of the man she was giving the lottery money to was never found. It could have been blown up up the explosion blast, which, in Mickey's story, had been set of by the Doctor. She could have very well murdered him, then set of the explosion blast, felt guilty, so ran away and took up a new identity.

Rose could have also just ran away, for whatever reason, which was the most plausible explanation. But Mickey needed a story to get him out of being sent to jail for murdering his girlfriend.

So I constructed this: Rose ran off. I suggested she was disliking her current dull life, and probably wanted something new. After all, working as a department store assistant just have been boring. Another story would be that because she had no experience the blast traumatized her. She she had to get away. She also might have been injured and trying to hide it, but not wanting to worry her mother she went away to a hospital that helped her. Mickey said the first one was what closest to the real story. So so I made a little script.

It went like this: 'Rose was tired with everyday life. She started looking for 'The Doctor', a figure of her very active imagination. She ran away looking for him and left me a note. Soon enough she will realize that he is not real and will come back.' Mickey was to stick to this story. Of course I had written the note, but I'm a master at copping people's handwriting, so I think everyone could really believe it was her. He went in to question two other times the few weeks I was there. I stayed in the spare room and library most of the time, but other than that, I was walking around the great city of London, where I wanted to live when I was older. Mickey got off the accusation and I went home with another case under my belt.

 **A year later**

I picked up my ringing cell phone and my family friend, Mickey Smith was on the other end. I remember the case that I had done a while back when he had been accused of killing his girlfriend. He claimed she had run off with a Time Lord but no one no one believed him so he had asked me to get him off the accusation.

"She came back, Sherlock and you won't believe who she's with!" He said.

"Rose, is she back with that Time Lord?" I said, an educated guess.

"Yes, and you won't believe it! Come quickly!"

"I'll be there as soon as possible." I said, then hung up. I pulled on my Belstaff coat Mycroft had given to my for my birthday, and went into the garden, where Mother was weeding.

"I'm going to be out for the rest of tonight." I said to her.

"I'll won't expect you for dinner then. Where are you going?" She asked.

"Mickey Smith's. His girlfriend came back. Want me to meet her."

"Be safe, Brilliance!" She called, using my childhood pet name. I left the house and headed for the nearest bus stop that would take me to London.

London, of course, was bursting with people, feverish, scared, people. Newspapers were screaming headlines like 'DOWNING STREET BLOWS UP' and 'ALIENS CONFIRMED?'. I went to the arranged address that Mickey had given me. It was Rose and her mother's flat, and the Doctor was there too, I was told. I was dubious about this 'Doctor' but I wasn't going to mention it. Some crackpot thinking he could time travel, I wanted to see him.

I knocked on the door to the flat and it was opened by Jackie Tyler. "Do I know you?" She asked.

"Yes we spoke once, about Mickey murdering your daughter. I was told she was back."

"You're the bloke who who helped Mickey! Of course, come in." She is here me into the living room and three people were stand there. One was Mickey, the other was Rose, and the third was presumably the Doctor. I shook there hands and introduced myself.

"So you got Ricky away from some time in jail, eh? Did you believe his story?" Asked the Doctor.

"I would like to see more proof of this 'TARDIS'."

"I'll show you if you can prove yourself."

"You have a Binary Vascular System, and a supreme intelligence. Tan lines show you where the same outfit everyday and work in a variety of weather conditions. You have married several women in your lifetime, but never wear rings. And you have one daughter, but she's not biologically yours. You've just been in a big war, were many people you loved died. You have to have a constant friend do to have a constant companion. Now you do me."

"Alright. You're going into the university. You are the youngest of three children. You live out of town with your family, and high intelligence is almost a family trait. You love bees, and plan to be a detective when you get older. You have already solved some cases, some big, some small. You also have a strong attachment to the family pet. Would you like to see my TARDIS?"

"Yes." The Doctor took me outside and behind the group of flats, where there was a 1960s police box just sitting there.

"And let me guess, it's bigger on the inside." I said sarcastically.

"She is, actually."

"I know a good mental hospital, if you need one."

He laughed, and unlocked the door. I opened it and looked around and took a deep breath, and started walking around. Almost immediately, I started to feel light headed. The thing was bigger on the inside. I layed down on the grated floor and closed my eyes. It was bigger on the insides. But what about physics? What about the laws of science? My breath started coming faster. My vision started to spin. My brain, so logical, seeing this clearly bigger on the inside, it was over loaded, how could this be possible?

"You alright?" It was Rose. She had entered the TARDIS, and was leaning over me, with a concerned look on her face.

"Absolutely not. How does it work?" She shrugged.

"I don't know. The Doctor never really answers questions, so I just stopped asking them."

"Boring." I said, getting up. "How does it work?" I asked the Doctor

"Well if you know how it works, it destroyed the purpose of theories."

"Theories. I don't care about them. I want to know how it WORKS!" The last word came out as a shout, as I realized how frustrated I was at not knowing how something worked.

"I really don't know." He shrugged.

"I don't believe you. Tell me how it works! Now!

"You really are persistent, aren't you? I don't know exactly how it works. I know how to use and fix it, but I don't know how she works."

"Ugh, fine. I need to get the next bus home. Good bye." I started to walk out, but the Doctor called after me, "This is the TARDIS, it can take you home in seconds." I crossed my arms and turned around. "Prove it." He smiled like he had something up his sleeve and started pushing buttons and pulling levers. "Hold on!" He yelled. The entire machine started to shake and move. A second later, it stopped. The Doctor opened the door and I stepped out onto my yard. Sure enough, I was back home. I sat down on the steps of my house and looked around. It was like only a few hours had passed. I turned around to face the Doctor and Rose. "Keep in contact!" Yelled the Doctor, and he shut the door to his TARDIS and it disappeared with a sound like a keys being scraped along the wires of an upright piano.

I walked into my house a new person. Everything I knew about science was changed. So many other things were possible. I went to my room and stayed up all night, changing my mind palace to the new information I had learned from the Doctor.

 **And that's how Sherlock met the Doctor. I think they would have stayed in touch over the years and become friends. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Birthday

**Birthday**

 **I don't own Sherlock**

 **Sherlock POV**

Everyone on this Earth has a birthday, and I am no exception. I never really understand the point of celebrating that you have less year until you die. John says I'm just a pessimist, and that I should look at the glass half full, but I pointed out that as long as you do something with whatever's in the glass, it doesn't matter if the glass is half full or half empty.

As a kid, my parents did give me presents. Little things and big things. Redbeard was a present for my tenth birthday. My first Belstaff coat was from Mycroft. I got my first violin from my Grandad. I really don't want to be reminded of all that. John had finally figured out when my birthday was, as I usually ignored it. He then set too out too turn our flat into an American trend, an 'Escape Room' where I had to find the key to a safe and inside the safe was a riddle that would get the key out of the room. He had done this for several years, but obviously stopped after I, well, you know the story. And now that he had moved out, I wasn't expecting it to happen again. The best I could wish for was a sarcastic, not meaningful 'happy birthday' from Mycroft, and possibly a cheesy card form my parents. I all of this went through my head as I drank my morning tea, watching the telly. I started to feel a bit drowsy. My eyelids grew heavy and I didn't even realise what was going to happen until I was already asleep.

I woke up with a start. The only thing that was different was the television was flashing letters. I knew exactly what to do. I looked at the telly. It was flashing L-I-B-R-O. Book. I turned to the book shelf and scanned it. All the books that were supposed to be there were, except for one. I didn't own it, and neither did John or Mrs. Hudson. It was called 'A Violinist's Thumb', by Sam Kean. I pulled it out from the self and took a look at it. It was brand new, but had been tampered with, as the spine was too big. I shook it and heard a small object, probably a bullet inside. With a little poking and prodding, sure enough, I found a small bullet with a six on it, and the roman numeral IV, or four. I suspect that each bullet I would find would have a number and a roman numeral, to show what order to put them in, too open the safe. And I had the fourth bullet in my hand. I slipped it into my pocket and continued looking.

I looked through my papers. Nothing new. I went to the kitchen. No new chemicals, no chemicals that were in a different order. The only disruption was a bacterial dish that was out of place. Taped to the bottom was a piece of paper that said ' _Kerzenleuchter_ ', which is german for candlestick. Around the flat, I didn't know were there would be a candlestick. There was a candlestick next to Tom, so I looked there. But all it really was was a metal tube dipped in wax. But it too had a bullet in it. I pulled on the wic, and the bullet pulled through the wax at the top. This bullet had the number three and roman numeral five. I put it in my pocket and inspected everything in sight.

I pulled on the strings that move the blinds. First window, nothing. Second window, a skull had been hastily painted by someone with poor drawing skills. Although it wasn't very good, I recognised it immediately. It was a copy of the same painting that was in the main living room. I took the painting of the wall, but nothing seemed any different. But the wall had a small box glued to it. I pulled it off and inspected it. It was obviously one of John's, probably something that he had gotten in his war years, as it had the Royal Army stamp on it. And it clearly had a bullet in it. It looked like it once held a gun, or something someone didn't want children getting their hands on. To get into the box, there was a six lettered passcode. It was something John would remember, but something almost no one knew. Like his middle name. I tried 'HAMISH' and there was a small click. Inside was a bullet and a slip of paper. The bullet had a nine and the roman numeral two. I put the bullet in my pocket and read the paper. It said 'blog'.

I went to John's computer and put in the password, then opened Google, then opened his blog. The latest entry was labeled 'Bullet'. I opened it, and sure enough there was the number eight and the roman numeral three. I had two more bullets to find.

I went through everything. I overturned mugs in the kitchen. I looked for concealed bottoms in drawers. I finally found the next hint under the teapot, which was hidden in a small compartment in the leg of a table. Underneath the teapot there was taped a piece of paper, that said ' _Panneaux de Plancher_ ', which is french for floorboards. I looked around the ground for any out of place floorboards but found none. I started to walk around and listen for out of place boards and soon found a creaky one. I pulled it up and found a small bag of marshmallows along with the bullet, which had a number seven and roman numeral one. I put it in my pocket and looked at the marshmellows. In neat handwriting, there was a little note. It said: " _Sherlock, happy birthday! John told me you love marshmellows, so here's a bag. Love, Mary. PS: Orologio_ ". I really do love marshmellows, and appreciated that Mary had gotten me a bag. Orologio mease clock, so I went to look at the one on the wall. Nothing was different about it, except that it was ticking in a strange pattern, and wasn't working, stuck on one time. I listened carefully, and heard a repeated message.

... - ..-. .-

Morse code. It translated too 'sofa'. I looked under the sofa, and there was a large framed picture. I took it out to reveal a large, framed, periodic table. The entire table was grey except for rhenium (Re), iodine (I) Neodymium (Nd), and lanthanum (La). I scrambled these letter up and got 'IReLaNd' as the most logical word that those letters could make. I went to the global map on the wall and poked Ireland. There was no wall behind it. I took the map off the wall and found a small cavity in the wall. Inside was the last bullet and a log for the fire. The number for the sixth bullet and last bullet was two. Now that I had all the bullets, I could open the safe. But I needed to find the safe. The log was obviously the hint. So I took it over to the fireplace and looked around. The wall didn't swing around and lead to a spaceship hundreds of years in future, there were no broken clocks, and nothing suspicious. I looked at the other logs. They were all normal cylinders of wood, except one. It was plastic, and had something in it. I popped open one end and pulled out a torch. It wasn't an ordinary torch either. It was a UV one. I turned of the lights and closed the blinds, then turned on the torch. I shined it on every surface I could find. I found this message when I shined it on the mantelpiece.

 _Which Witch Will you pick? the SAFE choice would be too choose the SHy onE and pRay she doesn't eat you Later. O my! Can't choose! going to blacKout... i Can't choose. can yOu? Mother could._

I wrote down all of the capital letter. WWWSAFESHERLOCKCOM. It was a web address! .com. I typed it into the browser and a black screen with a white box popped up. In bright pink words above the box, it said ' _Do you know the code, Sherlock?_ ' I pulled the bullets out of my pocket and typed into the box 798632. A green light appeared and the page changed too the riddle. This was the riddle:

A man was killed in his office and the suspects are Edison, Maxis, Jason,Janna, Sofia, and Patrick. This was found scrawled all over the calendar next to his desk: 6 4 9 10 11. Who was the killer?

It was so easy! I went over to the small intercom on the wall and pressed the button. "John, the killer is Jason. The numbers are pointing to the months on the calendar and the first letter of each month. Six is June, which starts with J, four is April, which starts with A, nine is September, which starts with S, ten is October, which starts with O, elleven is November, which starts with N. J-A-S-O-N spells Jason, and, begging for recognition as most killers are, he put those numbers there to get better rep in the criminal community."

"Correct." Said John, and from the other side of the door slid the key to the flat. I fit it in the keyhole and pushed open the door were John and Mary stood with a small box.

"Happy birthday!" They said, and I felt a genuine smile spread across my face. We sat down in our respective chairs and I was handed the box. It was a plain Royal Mail box, and had been opened before. I opened it up and found several cards. The first one was from my parents, cheesy as always, but meaningful nonetheless, one from Mycroft that said 'Stop Growing Up, You Make Me Feel Old', one from Molly, short and sweet, one from Lestrade, calling me a smart-arse, and one from Mrs. Hudson, reminding me to pay the rent. The last one was from John and Mary, and I have too say, they are the best friends that I could ever have and I certainly don't deserve them. The present was socks. At first I was confused, then I went over to the light switch to flick it off. The socks glowed in the dark. Probably the best socks ever. I like my socks, and I would have a special place for these particular socks in my sock index. Finally, John pulled out a cake from another box and we ate it all. Then we went for lunch and discussed Wimbledon and football and deduction and kidnapping. After lunch, we solved a particularly gruesome murder and then went out for donuts with Lestrade and Molly. It was probably the best birthday I have ever had.

 **Yay! That was a long one. I enjoyed writing it, and hope you enjoyed reading it. Suggestions are taken and thanks for reading!**


	9. Empty Graves, Broken Hearts

**I don't own Sherlock**

 **John POV**

I still go to his grave, sometimes. I don't really know why. I have never seen anyone beside myself ever even at that graveyard. No one ever bothers to visit dead people anymore, I guess. The one time I did see someone, I was very confused as to who he was.

He stood several rows away with his back to me. He was a man, with a long trench coat. Sherlock had a long coat. That made me sad, and a little mad. This man was staring down at the gravestone, hands at his sides, just looking. I went over to talk to him.

"Hello." I said tentatively. He looked up, blinked, and looked at the sky.

"Hello." He said looking back at me. His hair was spiked at the front and some sideburns that could only be described as wicked. Under his trench coat, he wore a brown and blue pinstripe suit, and a tie that had blue swirls on it.

I looked down at the gravestone he was looking at. In plain letters I read:

ROSE TYLER

1986-2005

There was a ornate, carved, rose on the top. The man smiled at it. "I paid for it myself."

"I don't mean to pry, but how did she die?" He looked like he was going to say something crazy, but instead he just said, "She's not dead. Just missing from this world."

"Where you together?"

He shrugged. "You could say that. Why are you here?"

"For my friend. Sherlock."

"That man is an idiot." I opened my mouth to protest, but the man hadn't finished. "Just an idiot for putting his friends through that. If I ever get my hands on him again…" He trailed of.

"Sorry, but I don't think I got your name. I'm Doctor John Watson."

"I'm a doctor to. And a John. Dr. John Smith. I knew Sherlock, since he was teenager. I looked a lot different back then."

"I'm sorry I really shouldn't be asking this, but how did you get to know him?"

"He got a friend of Rose's off a murder charge. I gave him a lift home. Interesting kid." He laughed. "The last time I saw him was November. I think you punched him in the face." He smiled like a kid. "It was quite the restaurant."

"I don't remember that."

"I believe it will be quite vividly imprinted into your memories, Doctor Watson." He sat down on the grass. "Normally I try to avoid this spot of town. Because of this." He sighed deeply. "Empty graves and broken hearts. That's what we're both going through." He pulled a Hocus Pocus Rose out of his coat and placed it on the headstone. "I just wish I could have told her one last last thing. I wish I could have told her how much I loved her. Never miss that chance, Doctor. If you love someone, tell them before it's too late." He stood up and walked away, out of the graveyard and across the street.

Nothing this man had said made any sense. He had confused me to no end. I went back to my new flat and sat down in my bed and decided to put the strange man out of my head. But there was nobody here to play the violin at the wrong time. Nobody here to shoot at the walls. Nobody here to put human body parts in the fridge. Nobody here that could ever replace Sherlock.

 **A few weeks later**

I got a call from a telephone box today. I had gotten several of these calls, where I pick it up and no one is on the other end. I eventually hang up, but I have a nagging feeling that someone wants to talk to me. I picked up the phone and put it to my ear and said "This is Doctor John Watson, how can I help you?" this time, there was a soft crying at the other end. "Can I help you? Who is this? Sher-." the other end hung up "-lock, is that you?" But it couldn't be Sherlock. Sherlock is dead. I have do idea who the other person us and way they want. The strange man in the graveyard came back to me. Maybe it was him. I went back to my coffee, but it had now gone cold. Like always, I had no idea what to do.

 **Sherlock POV**

I had meant to come up with a story, something like I was working for a big company, advertising our product, but it never happens. I couldn't stand not hearing John's voice anymore. This time it was in Switzerland, and I had just cut of a huge part of Moriarty's spiders web. My head was ringing with all the little comments that John would have made if he was there. I missed is sarcastic remarks more than I would care to admit.

I called John's number up in the telephone booth and he answered "This is Doctor John Watson, how can I help you?" I broke down. John should have known. I should have let him in on the plan. He didn't deserve this pain that I had so willingly put a upon him. I was crying for my friend. Very few people have I ever called a friend. I wanted to tell him, wanted to say I was still alive. But I couldn't. My mouth wasn't working, I couldn't even say it in another language.

"Can I help you? Who is this?" I pulled the phone away from my ear and and hung up. This was all my fault. I felt terrible. I almost never feel bad for my actions. This made it all the more real. I had hurt someone, and as John would say "Not good, Sherlock, not good."

I texted Mycroft to let him know I completed another job. This time I was going to Russia. A particular tricky piece of work, that could very well get me killed, and I wanted to know if Mycroft could help get me out if needed, he could. He said yes, and asked me if I was ever coming back to England. Of course I was coming back, I told him. Mycroft said he had been watching John, and that he needed me back. I didn't respond too that one. Just booked myself a bad hotel and wondered if he really did need me at all. I sure needed him.

 **Feels. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed.**


	10. OCD

**I don't own Sherlock**

 **Mycroft POV**

"Athena, call up the team."

"Was it a bad day, sir?"

"Yes. Tell the team to be at Baker Street at five. My brother will be gone then."

"Yes sir. Will do." I hung up. Today had been very stressful. I needed to annoy someone. Sherlock was always a good pick.

The team and I pulled up to Baker Street right on time. I put the knocker back in place and we picked the lock and went into the flat. As always, it was a complete mess. The team started at the kitchen and moved there way down. They organised the table, ordering the many chemicals by order on the periodic table. They washed all the mugs and put them all back in the cabinet. They put the table back in order, wiped of the counter, and tagged all the random body parts. They arranged all the papers in neat stacks. I put the desk back in place, arranged the lamp, put the pictures in order in which they were taken. I made everything inline and perfect. All of the cigarettes were slid back into place. I even had the courtesy to bring his violin back. I put his slippers back where they should be and personal when around his bedroom and organised everything. It was really a tedious task, but organising his things was better than knowing how absolutely messy it was.

After cleaning the entire flat, we opened the door to find Greg outside, lifting his hand to knock on the door.

"Ah, Greg. Sherlock isn't here right now. But perfect timing. Sherlock is going to be very mad when he comes home to find his flat cleaned. He's going to retaliate. That's the thing about this process. He'll break into my house and move things, dreadful of him, I know. But let's surprise him, hum?" Greg looked baffled. I handed him my card into the building. "He'll be there around seven." He kept opening and closing his mouth, looking around, like he had never seen the place. "I will be gone at that time. Make sure to fine him for breaking and entering." I smiled at him and he looked so confused. It was a little funny. "It's, it is wow, it's really, um, clean." He said finally. "And should I arrest you on breaking and entering?"

"Thanks. And there will be no need." I said, smiling. "We must be off." We left the flat in such order, I couldn't be more proud. Now we just had to wait for Sherlock's next move.

 **Sherlock POV**

As I walked up the steps to 221B Baker Street, I immediately knew Mycroft had been there. The knocker was out of place again. I went inside expecting there to be a hailstorm of police calling for a drugs bust, but found the flat completely empty. But everything was wrong.,Every single thing was out of place."No, no, no, NO!" I shouted.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

"My violin!" I shouted, spring towards it. Mycroft had returned it!

"What's wrong with your violin?" John asked, coming up the stairs.

"It's back!" I said, taking it out if it's case. It was still a children's model. Mycroft still hadn't forgiven me for selling the older one for drugs. Not my smartest move.

But still I cradled it in my arms, thankful that I had it back. Then I looked around, assessing the rest of the room.

"Everything is so… neat." John said finally.

"I know. Isn't it just so hateful?"

"I kind of like it." He said, sitting down in his chair.

"UGH! I'm never going to be able to find anything!I said, putting violin back and looking through the papers. "Where IS everything?" Then I went to the kitchen. Everything was in line, perfectly neat. The chemicals were ordered, the experiment in order. At least he hadn't disturbed the bacteria dishes to much.

Then I went to check my room. I immediately hated it. The boxes were all pushed along the wall, the bed was made, everything was ship-shape. How was I supposed to find anything thing in this disaster?!

I went back to the living room and sat down in my chair. Seething, I planned a way to get Mycroft back for this.

"John?" I asked. He looked up from his laptop. "Can I break into my brothers house?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You do know you're not supposed to ask if you can break into someone's house, right? That does kind of defeat the purpose."

"I know, but he is my brother, and he broke into my flat without permission. The whole point is to be better then him. And I'll knock."

"And if he doesn't answer?"

"I'll pick the lock." John shrugged and went back to his ridiculously slow typing.

"Go ahead." He said, then turned back to me. "Can I come?"

"Sure. We leave at six thirty."

 **6:30(ish)**

We got into the cab and (after checking the ID of the driver, again, fairly suspicious) sped of to Mycroft's estate. Well, it's not really an estate, just a very large home. After arriving, we went to the front door and knocked politely.

The front door was opened by Emma, who normally answered the door, but Lestrade.

"Hm. Nice seeing you here." I said and pushed past.

"Greg, what are you doing here?" John asked, looking befuddled.

"Well I was going to arrest you on charges of breaking and entering, but since all you did was knock, I can't do that."  
"I take certain precautions." I said,entering the living room. All the furniture was in line. Exactly as Mycroft liked it. So I set to pushing the couch just slightly out of alignment and putting the chairs crooked. It was all so satisfying, knowing it would make my brother so mad. Lestrade and John were talking quietly while I was disrupting everything, moving the lamp, misaligning the pencils and pens, changing the position of the model birds he had gotten when he graduated from university, then righting in the dust on the mantle "Don't mess with my stuff". He would get the message.

"You do know he has cameras in here, right?" Lestrade asked.

"Sure." I said, and pointed too all the spots where the CCTV cameras were. Every night Mycroft checks them for suspicious activity. Normally it's just me, but you never know.

"So I can't arrest you for breaking and entering, because you knocked, and I can't arrest you for stealing either, since you're not going to take anything." I laughed.

"I am going to take, something, but it's not Mycroft's. Or mine." I stuck my hand under the cushion too the couch and pulled out an ID.

"Hey, that's mine!" Lestrade said, snatching it out of my hand. "Why does Mycroft have my ID?" He asked.

"Actually, I had it. I got it from you and Mycroft got it from. I pickpocket you when you get annoying and Mycroft does the same with me. Thanks for letting us in." I said, sweeping out the door, John following me.

"Well, that didn't take too long." John said as we got back into the cab.

"It doesn't take too long to ruin someones day." I responded.

"Look who's talking." We spent the rest of the ride in silence, but when we got home, we had a lively argument about which modern Doctor was the best, and after rewatching almost all of Ten, we decide that he was the best Doctor. Despite the fact that I wouldn't be able to find anything for weeks, it was an okay day.

 **Sorry that took a while. I'm having a bit of writers block. I don't think that this one was as good as the others, but l'm doing my best. Don't hate. And I caught up on all of my fandomy stuff and *takes deep breath* THE TRAILER FOR SHERLOCK IS OUT! Why is Sherlock crying? Who is in that hospital bed? Where is the baby? When will it be released? Why are there nurses? Why is he in the morgue? Why does he have facial hair? I have so many questions and we have to wait until January! And only a few more days until the Cursed Child comes out! Still a bit disappointed that I can't go to London. Comment on anything you think will happen (I have tons of theorys, none of them very happy) and thanks for reading.**


	11. Holmes Family Reunion

**Guest: Wow, thanks, that's really nice of you. Take some cookies. I swear they're healthy. And gluten free, if that's what you like. (Do cookies have gluten?) (::) (::) (::)**

 **Lovely Whim: Thanks for all the nice things you're saying about my stories! I really appreciate it. Here are some cookies! (::) (::) (::)**

 **And anyone else who wants some cookies (::) (::) (::)!**

 **I don't own Sherlock**

 **Sherlock POV**

 _Boom!_

"What was that?" Said John, looking bewildered.

"My phone. Pass it here." I held out my hand as John reached over and handed me my phone.

"It was literally not five inches from your hand." He said, exasperated.

"It's better to have you get it." I said, pulling up the texts. Like I had expected, a text from mum. I read it and immediately regretted it.

"What's that look for? Who texted you?"

"Mum. This is not going to fun." Most people would point out the strange sound as her text notification, but John didn't even raise an eyebrow.

"I'm going to be gone this weekend. Stupid family reunion." John laughed. I couldn't see what was so funny, but he had a strange sense of humor.

"What is the rest of your family like? I've seen Mycroft, and if that's any indication…" He trailed of.

"They're all so…" I struggled to find the word. "normal." I decided.

"Really?"

"Well, besides the fact the they are all world renowned scientists, mathematicians, and engineers, fairly normal. I leave later today, so better get packing." I didn't actually have to pack. I had a special suitcase for emergencies such as this. I just wanted to get out of this conversation. I really didn't want John making anymore inquires about my family history. It was not pretty. Still, I was generally put in charge of the kids, which was always a laugh. But on the down side, I would have to see my awful Uncle Dursley. I really didn't see why he had to come. His sister had been married to my late Uncle Sam, who was lots of fun if you got him drunk. But his wife and her family where a bunch of idiots. I absolutely hated them.

 _Coming. Guest list?_ I texted my mum. She sent me a list of people who would be coming. I went through the list, and thankfully, Aunt Marge had had a mysterious injury and couldn't come. Uncle Dursley wouldn't be bothered to visit if his sister wasn't coming so they weren't going to be there. Mycroft, as always. My grandmama, a very old lady who just loved quantum physics, would be there also. A few other people, like my mum's brothers and sisters, and their family, would also be there. That meant all of the regular kids, except Dudley and Harry, would be there. The triplets, Lulu, Gracie, and Andrew, Dean, Kevo, and Beatrice. All six kids. This was going to be fun.

Several hours later I had finally dragged myself onto a bus that took me to my hometown and walked down the long pathway to my parents house. Already I could see several people inside, laughing, and having fun. I pushed open the door and was greeted with a flurry of hugs and kisses from various relatives. Mycroft scowled at me from the couch, where Grandmama's was in her wheelchair. I smiled at him then was hit with a force like a hurricane.

"Sherlock's home!" Yelled a little voice from somewhere around my legs.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, you won't believe the explosion I made in the back yard. It almost gave Aunt Wanda a heart attack." said Andrew's voice. I looked over at Mum, who nodded gravely.

"Sherlock, you never told me who murdered that pink lady from last time you were here." Said Kevo.

My the hem of my sleeve was tugged by a little girl, Beatrice, who said in her small voice. "Nobody will tell me why Uncle Myc can't have cake. Why can't he have cake, Sherlock, why?"

"Because he's fat and needs to lose some weight." I told her, promptly getting slapped on the arm from my mother.

"Come outside Sherlock, let's play detective!" Said Gracie, pigtails bouncing.

Dean looked at me seriously.

"Lulu's been murdered." He said somberly.

"And Commies are coming to get you!" Squealed Gracie. She was a bit hyperactive.

"Of course, we know who murdered Lulu. But you don't. It could be anyone at this party. You have to find out who did it. Is John coming?" I was taken aback at this last question.

"No, he isn't coming, far as I'm aware."

"We read his blog at night! He writes the best stories! Now everybody, go to your positions! Chop chop!" the other children ran if to different parts of the property, while Gracie led me outside. On the patio deck was Lulu, smeared with 'blood'. She was obviously not dead, any idiot could tell, but I had to play along in fear of the other adults. I took out my magnifying glass and looked at her. Lulu was ten years old, a strong love for books of all kinds, and was shy to those she didn't know. After examining the 'body', Gracie handed me a sheet of paper. On it was a list of suspects the 'police' had. On it was everyone but me, Grandma, and Lulu herself. Then there was a list of places Lulu had been in the 24 hours. It said that Lulu had been to the library owned by Grandmama, the cafe, had spend two hours in the car driving here, and was a happy girl until Mycroft showed up, where she slipped outside and 'met her demise'. Quite graphic for a ten year old.

Normal I would have an autopsy done, but that couldn't happen. So I turned to Gracie, who had dubbed herself 'Police Lady'. "First if all, ignore all suspect list the police give you. They're rubbish" I tore the end that had the list of suspects off. "Anyone could have done it. So, what books did your sister get at the library?" I asked her. She led me into the guest room where they were staying, where a large bag of books was laying on the floor. I rummaged inside and pulled out three books. A Beginners Guide to Edible Plants in England, Alex Rider, and A Christmas Carol. They all looked fairly innocent. I picked up the first book and flipped through it. One page was dogeared. Nothing poisonous on this page, just harmless berries. The only other clue was a book mark that said _156:6._ It looked like a bible verse, but the bible didn't have chapters that went that high. But I did have the books, and they were probably what I was suppose to look at. I flipped the Edible Plants book to 156 and looked at the sixth word. _Also._ I didn't think that was what I had to worry about. I looked at the sixth entry of plants. _Hemlock._ That was probably what had 'killed' Lulu. I opened up the other to books. Alex Riders sixth word on page 156 was _find_ , and A Christmas Carol was _it. Find it._ I had to find the Hemlock. I flipped back to the section on Hemlock in Edible Plants. It said: _The very poisonous Conium Maculatum is found almost in damp, wet areas, but also in drier, rougher regions as well. Roadsides, streams, ditches, and other surface water. All parts of the plant are poisonous if ingested or eaten, although drying the plant out greatly refuses the effects._ I shut the book with a snap.

"Come on, John. He have a poisonous plant to find." Gracie giggled and jumped up and down. Did I just call her John?

"It took ages to find books with that combination! Ages, Sherlock, ages!" She grabbed onto my hand and pulled me all the way to the front door. I pushed it open and went outside keeping an eye out for poisonous hemlock. Along the dusty road I saw many footprints, mine included. I took a picture of all of the different track marks I found, while still looking for hemlock. Then I remembered. Mum always had a small drainage hole for rain water. I went over to look at where it had last been, under a big tree. It was still there now. But there was no was some familiar looking footprints, I just couldn't put my finger on who's they were. I didn't even get a chance to stand up and keep looking when a black bag was dropped on my head. I yelled an indignant "Hey!" When I heard little voice, running around me, while lengths of rope were being wrapped around me, so tight I could barely feel my arms.

Then they started marching me down a hill, probably to the shed that mum kept all her gardening supplies in. I suspected that these were the 'Commies'. They marched me all they way down to the shed and forced me down into a chair, before wiping the bag of my head.

To my right and left stood two children, clad in black, holding BB guns. At such close range, they could probably do some damage. They started wrapping the rope around me again, only leaving one hand free. I could barely move when they were done. In front of me, stood another kid in all black. There faces were covered, but on there black sweaters, there was a bright red hammer and sickle. Yep, definitely the Commies.

"You do know that Russia isn't a Communist state anymore?"

"There is still a small band of us who believe in the old ways." came a girl's voice. She was trying to distort it, but it wasn't really working. In front of me stood Beatrise, who was barely six years old.

"To your left, Dean, to your right, Kevo. They are my minions. You get one phone call before my boss showed up." I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone. Who should I call? I could call my mum, but that would ruin all the fun. So I looked at the first name on my contacts list. John Watson. He could definitely help. I had to remind myself that nobody had actually been murdered. This was just a game that these children had set up. And, once the game was done, I would expected to talk with adults. If John was there, it would give me an excuse not to socialize.

I dialed up John's number. He answered on the first ring. "What, Sherlock?"

"Well that's not a very nice way to greet someone who's tied up."

"What?!" Said John, I could almost see him leaping up out of his chair. "I was going to say it sounded like it was to quiet, but go ahead, explain why you're in this situation."

"Alright, so I'm tied up in my mother's shed by some mini Communist. They have BB guns and were probably the ones who 'murdered' my cousin, Lulu"

"They murdered your cousin?!"

"She's not actually dead, John, it's just a game. Every year one of the kids get 'murdered', and I have to figure out how did it."

"But why?"

"Because I'm in charge of all those under the age of thirteen, and seeing as they all have very short attention spans, they decided to cook up a murder and watch me solve it."

"So you're calling me because they tied you up in a shed? How old are these kids?"

"The youngest is six, the oldest is ten."

"And they have you tied up?"

"Yep." I heard him laughing at the other end the line.

"You let some kids tie you up? Why would you be calling me?"

"I'm calling you because the pizza man ran out of pizzas." This was code for 'come help'. If I would have said 'the pizza man ran out of pizzas and I'm really hungry', it would mean I'm in immediate danger.

"Well I never imagined this. I'll talk with the pizza man. Anything else?"

"Don't tell Geoff."

"Greg!" Came another voice. Lestrade was there to.

"You're on speaker phone, Sherlock." Said John, laughing harder then ever. "Greg came over to have a drink." I swore under my breath.

"Language! They're kids on your end!"

"I am surrounded by miniature assassin's, swearing is the least of my problems!"

"I'm going to talk to the pizza man now." I hung up and slid my phone back into my jacket.

"The boss will be with you shortly." She stepped outside and Dean turned to me.

"I'm sorry we tied you up, Sherlock. But Gracie said she'd give me pie if I did this." He said.

"Shh! We're not suppose to talk, 'member?" Kevo said. They resumed their previous positions as the door opened to reveal Andrew.

"I am the boss man." He said in a horrible Russian accent. "And I want to know who murdered my wonderful sister, Lulu."

"She ate a poisonous hemlock."

"Then why was she found with blood all over her?"

"That was the person who fed her the hemlock. He wanted to make it look like murder, but where would the blood come from? She didn't have an entry wound. The blood was just for show."

"Then who did it?"

"Give me a second." I said. I retreated to my mind palace, running the halls until I found the room I was looking for. Shoes. I ran a scan for matching shoe patterns and walking patterns of all the people at the party. Finally, a match.

"Mycroft!" I shouted, opening my eyes. "Mycroft murdered Lulu!"

"But why?" Andrew asked.

"Drop the accent. And I don't know why Mycroft would murder Lulu. She doesn't have anything he wants, I know that. She hasn't really done anything to him at all. She barely talks to anyone. He would have no reason to talk to her. Unless…" I trailed off, thinking, thinking, thinking. "Yes! Mycroft asked her to do something, but she refused. But what would that be? He's basically the British government, he could get anything. But Lulu reads so much, and is so smart. That books she was reading, Alex Rider. It's about seacret agents and spies. Maybe he gave her the option to work for him. She's small, and could fit into tight places, good for sneaking around. When she refused, he poisoned her using the hemlock, his footprints were by the water drainage hole. Hypothetically speaking. Why have you captured me? You could have just asked politely for me to solve the case."

"One, because I wanted to know who murdered Lulu. Two, because you have something we want." the accent was really annoying.

"And what might that be?"

"Keys." He said, letting the simple word resound around the little shed.

"Well, the police will be here any second. You're not getting any keys from me." I wiggled and squirmed in my chair. Had this been an actual kidnapping, I would have made it look like I was still tied up, then burst through the rope and take everyone out. But this was just a bunch of kids, and I couldn't exactly whip out a shovel and hit them over the head with it.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but that's not how things work here. I give the order, and you follow it. Keys. Now." He held out his hand, expecting me to reach into my coat pocket and give him what he wanted.

"Keys to where?" I asked. Stalling was the preferable option at the moment.

"The cupboard."

"And why would you like keys to the cupboard?" I said, fidgeting even more. I had started using my free hand to loosen the knot.

"Because the cupboard has an entrance too Aunt Wanda's secret lab that she thinks nobody knows about."

"And how did you figure that out?" It was true, my mother did have a secret lab underneath the house. She never told anyone about it, unless they really needed to know. I snagged the keys off her one day, copied it, and the kids must have found out that I had it.

"We stole the blueprints. Not that hard." Andrew shrugged.

"Alright, I'll give them too you." I decided that as long as I kept an eye on them, it would be alright. I reached into my coat and pulled out a large ring of keys. I had a lot of keys. Some didn't even had locks. A key to 221B Baker Street, a key to the shed I was in now, I key to the house, and keys that I didn't like thinking about. I took the one that opened the lock hidden behind the flour and reached out to hand it too Andrew. Then came a knock on the door.

"Sherlock? Are you in there? You didn't tell me you invited a friend." I sighed.

"Just let him in." I said.

"What do you say?"

" _Please_ let him in." I heard snickering from outside the door. "Oh, shut up." I grumbled.

"Do you have a key love?" I took the right key from around the ring as I heard my mum say, "Sherlock loves keys, has one to everything. Probably even Buckingham Palace." as I slid the key under the door. I heard it being slid into the lock and the doors came open. In came my mum and John.

"Do you really have keys to Buckingham Palace?" Asked he asked.

"No. I'm working on it though."

"Andrew!" Mum said sharply. "And Dean and Kevo! What are you doing, locking Sherlock up in a shed?"

"Um, we, ah, it hard to explain, but-" He was cut off shortly by Mum's withering glare. "Sorry." He finally said, hanging his head down in shame.

"It's not there fault, Mum. It's just a game. Most kids their age won't be interested, let alone take the time to set something up like this. " I said, finally wiggly free of my bonds.

"Yes, but this seems a little over the top, with all these guns and kidnapping. They're still young, Sherlock."

"I enjoy it." I said.

"Love, you enjoy continually putting your life at risk for a little fun. And I don't care if that fun involves helping people. I am the more responsible adult in this situation, and I am fully prepared to shoot it down. Take those silly costumes off, and come inside." They took of their heavy black sweaters and put down there BB's, shuffling out of the shed.

"Aren't you going to argue with her?" Asked John.

"He doesn't argue with his mother, dear." She said, ushering us out. She took the kids inside and left us on the lawn.

"So you called us, when our mum could have gotten you out in half the time?" Asked John,

"I don't like family gathering. If I'm lucky, these games last the entire time." I skirted around the subject of my family, as I always had. Before he could ask questions, Lulu skipped over too me.

"Sherlock, Auntie Wanda said I didn't have to be dead anymore. Did you solve the case?"

"It was Mycroft."

She turned to John and gasp a little. "Are you, you're, wow."

"Did I tell you you're quite the celebrity around here?"

"You're Captain John Watson! Sherlock's best friend!" She finally declared and stuck her little hand out to shake. John took her small hands awkwardly, looking quite confused. "I'm gonna go get the others."

"What?" Asked John. "What? I don't understand. How would I-" He pointed to his chest. "-be very popular-" He put his hands in the air, "-when it's _your_ family." Then six kids and my very ecstatic grandma (in a wheelchair, mind you) came running (rolling, whatever) up to us.

"Tell us a story, Captain Watson." Said Gracie, bouncing up and down. "Tell us the one about the Speckled Blonde! Or the one about Death by Twitter! Tell us one that's not on your blog! Tell us them all!" She said.

"Um, alright, sure." He was pulled down into a chair by Beatrise, who sat at his feet, expectantly waiting for a story.

We stayed all night long, until Beatrise fell asleep, Gracie stopped bouncing, and Kevo stopped making little comments. The kids shuffled off to bed and I went too a little spot on Moker's Hill, under a great big tree that I used to climb when I was younger, were a simple stone stood. On it was inscribed _Redbeard, Kisses, Love, the Holmes Family._ I looked at the back of the stone, where I had left a little message to Redbeard when I was younger. It said _Thanks for being a best friend._ I remembered the day I stood there, from dawn till dusk, meticulously inscribing that into the stone. My vision started to go foggy, the sounds of nature got muted, my heart started beating faster, and faster, and faster. But a voice. Someone was talking to me. Mycroft. He was waving his hands in front of my face.

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Sherlock!" He snapped at me. I blinked. Everything was normal. "Why are you here?" He asked me.

"I wanted to visit him. I wish he was still around."

"Why is that?"

"Because I loved him." I wanted this to be the end of the conversation.

"We all did, Sherlock." He reached out and plucked two wild flowers from the ground, and handed one to me. He placed his on the stone, and I did the same. We turned around and walked back into the house in silence. Me and John got on the bus and John finally broke the silence.

"Where were you? I was getting uncomfortable."

"I was up on the big hill, with the trees. Somebody I used to know. We were good friends."

"Really?"  
"Yes. We had marvelous adventures. Did you talk too my grandmother?" I was really desperate to change the subject

"Was she the old lady in the wheelchair? Yeah, I talked to her a little. God, just like Mrs. Hudson. Was asking when our wedding was."

"That's Grandma, alright. Just don't get her started on quantum physics. She still studies its, even though she's eighty-nine. What are your parents like?"

"Very… Traditional. I don't think they would like you at all." He laughed. "Then again, most people don't. My dad is more discipline and stuff, he made me want to join the army, and my mum is just like your average old lady. She knits my jumpers." We talked a little more about family, but I guess it wasn't that important, because I didn't remember. I went to bed that night with a good feeling. I had solved a (pretend) murder, heard a lot of stories, and visited my little puppy. I had learned something new about my friend. I had made a little kid's day. That was good. And I couldn't wait for tomorrow.

 **Wow. Long chapter. Like, six pages long. Sorry it took me forever to write. I couldn't help adding that bit about the Dursley's. School starts soon, so it'll probably get harder to update it often. Still can't wait for season 4! The hiatus is entirely ruining my Voldemort Day. Thanks for reading hope you enjoyed.**


	12. Star Trek

**I don't own Sherlock (or Star Trek, for that matter)**

 **Mary POV**

John, my boyfriend, was having a good day, and it was plain as day why not. Today marked the first year since his best friend, Sherlock's, suicide. We hadn't been dating for very long, but it was something any moron could tell was bothering him.

Right now he was sitting in his chair at my flat, where I had invited him over for dinner. Just staring into the distance. I set out the bread that I had baked earlier that day and sat down to eat myself.

"John." He blinked and looked at me, coming out of his daze.

"Yes, Mary?" He faked a smile.

"After dinner, let's do something fun. Like see a movie." He shrugged.

"Anything you want to see?" He asked.

"How 'bout Star Trek." He plastered on a fake smile and nodded.

"Sure. Sounds good." I tried to make small talk the rest of the meal, but it was no use. He looked so empty, just staring of into the distance. We cleared the table, did the dishes, and got in the car. Once we got into the theater, we got our tickets and sat down in our seats.

The movie started alright, John looked indifferent to it all, not really paying attention. Then an actor, whom I recognized from some show or another appeared, getting out of bed, going to a hospital, and seeing what I assumed what was his daughter, sick in bed. He walked out onto a balcony were a voice that sounded vaguely familiar greeted him.

"I can save her." The voice said. John sat bolt upright. The man who had been visiting his daughter turned around from the balcony edge.

"What did you say?" He asked.

"Your daughter. I can save her." The camera turned to face the deep voice that had agitated John so much. It was the familiar face of Sherlock Holmes.

A faint gasp came from in front of us. "Mum!" A little whisper said. "Mum it's Sherlock Holmes! The genius from the papers."

"We've been over this, Lizzy. He wasn't a real genius."

"You can't fake smart." The girl hissed, and was silent again.

"John, are you alright?" I looked over at him, chalk white and still. He shook his head. "It's just an actor." He nodded. We continued to watch the movie, without interruption, until they finally managed to capture 'John Harrison'. They put him in a glass cell and proceeded to interrogate him. He told them his real name was Khan, and there torpedoes had his crew members in them.

"My crew is my family. Is there not anything you would do for your family?" He said. I could feel an already anxious John tense up next to me.

"Mum, why?" The little girl asked.

"Because he was a fake, Lizzy."

"No he wasn't! I believe in Sherlock Holmes. You can't change my mind."

John had had enough. He stood up and walked out of the theater. I got up and went after, and heard the mother say to the girl, "Look, and you upset that man. Go and apologize."

"John?" I said when I went outside. I saw him standing in front of the building. I walked quickly out to him, and found the weather matching his melancholy mood. It was raining, with no sun to be seen.

"Are you alright?" I asked, looking him in the face. He slid down the wall, shaking his head. He motioned for me to sit down next to him, and took my hand.

"I'm assuming you know Sherlock's story, yes?" I nodded. He took a deep breath and continued. "Most of the other girls I dated kept asking questions about him, prying. You haven't ask me a single question about him."

"I didn't want to be insensitive."

"He was my best friend, Mary, and I would sell my soul to the devil to bring him back, even if he was an cocky arse with a big head. Now most of the country thinks he's a fake, and even though I know he's not, and that he was proved innocent in a court of law, that isn't going to magically bring him back. He still took his own life, and I just _stood_ there, watching. And now none of the friends I made through him, Molly and Greg, they don't look at me the same way. So we just stopped talking. I'm pretty much alone."

"You have me." He put his arm around my shoulders and laughed softly.

Just then, the girl who was talking in the theater came out of the big doors. "And it's raining to." She muttered, and walked over to us, saw John, and seemed to forget what she was going to say.

"Now I'm even more sorry." She finally said, looking ashamed.

"It's alright." John stood, then held out his hand and helped me up. "Its really surprising how many people still hate him, even though court proved him guilty. Shame is not a court in this world could bring Sherlock Holmes back." He took my arm. "You go enjoy the movie." He tipped his imaginary hat and walked off.

"What would you do if he did come back?" I asked John once we were back in the car.

"Tell him I was happy he was alive-" he paused, "-so I could kill him myself." He twisted the keys in the ignition violently, and the car started with a roar. "Sherlock, back from the dead. That'll be the day." After that we went out and had a drink, talking about anything but John's lost best friend, Sherlock Holmes.

 **School started. It was boring. I would much rather be in room on the Internet all day. Much more entertaining. Thank you for reading, don't forget to comment. Suggestions are taken.**


	13. Pirates and Playtoys

**I don't own Sherlock BBC, you would know if I did**

 **Sherlock POV**

"A murder! Yes! And an interesting one to!" I shouted. I turned to look for John and tell him to get his coat on, but faced an empty flat. Of course. I had forgotten, John had left for the weekend to visit his sister. Today I would be on my own.

This didn't bother me terribly, I could do perfectly well by myself. So I pulled on my coat and ran out the door, and caught a cab straight to Scotland Yard.

Lestrade was waiting for me in front of his office, a frown on his face. "I just got word that they solved it."

"Why aren't you there?" I asked.

"Because I'm stuck watching that one." He jerked his head towards a little girl with an eyepatch, playing with little figurines at his desk. He opened the door and gestured for me to sit. "Sherlock, this is Stacy, Stacy, this is Sherlock. I'll have to get another officer to cover this shift. I'll be right back." He glared at me. "Don't do anything stupid." I never do anything stupid, so he wouldn't have to worry about that. He left me sitting with Stacy, presumably Lestrade's daughter.

She was five years old, and quite smart for somebody of her age, enjoyed apples, played in the garden, disliked dresses, and wanted to be Batman when she's older. I looked closer at the figurines she was playing with. It was Captain America and Iron Man. I looked back at the eyepatch. It looked similar to the one that I had when I played pirate.

"Are you a pirate?" I asked. She looked up and shook her head.

"Nope. I'm Nick Fury. Telling the Avengers how to save the world." She turned the eyepatch to the other eye. "Now I'm a pirate. Arr, maties, let's go pillage some of the King's vessels." She flipped the eyepatch back. "But I like Nick Fury better. He helps save people, like Daddy. Daddy said you save people to, Mr. Holmes, but you can be really mean sometimes. But I suppose all superhero's are mean sometimes. Like the Hulk."

"How do you know my last name?" I asked, folding my arms.

"Daddy talks about you at home. He said you're the reason he has two cups of coffee in the morning."

"Does he?"

She put Captain America and Iron Man down and flipped her eyepatch over. "Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose he does. Do you like pirates?" She asked in what I guessed what was her pirate voice.

"Well it just so happens that I do, miss. When I was just a young lad, I wanted to be a pirate meself." I said in my pirate voice. I hadn't told anybody about my aspersions to be a pirate in a very long time. I still had all the old toys somewhere in the flat.

"Mr. Holmes, if you were an Avenger, who would you be?" She asked.

"I would be Iron Man. He's the smartest. Who would you be, Ms. Stacy?"

"I would be Hawkeye. He's underestimate, like me." She handed me Iron Man. "You talk him. I'll be Cap. Right now they're saving the desk from the evil stapler." She snapped the stapler shut and made a growling sound. "I am the evil stapler. I am here to take over the desk. The top of the computer will be my throne." She said in an evil stapler voice. "We can't let him get the the top." She hissed.

"Alright. Let's go get the evil stapler." I said in my best impersonation of Iron Man. "JARVIS, set trajectory course of missile twelve to 'evil stapler'." I picked up a pencil and had Iron Man throw it like a spear towards the evil stapler, who was making his way towards the computer. It missed by just a centimeter. I was not expecting it to go that far, or get that close.

"I'll throw my shield!" Stacy said. She picked up a penny and tosses it like a disk at the stapler. It missed, unsurprisingly.

The door opened, and Lestrade came in with another officer, saying, "Good news and bad news, good news is-" He looked at us, looking quite confused at the scene before him. "Could somebody please explain to me what is going on?" He said.

"We were playing Avengers, Daddy, Mr. Holmes was Iron Man, and I was Cap. They were fighting the evil stapler." She smiled innocently.

"Alrighty. Stacy, we're going home, now that I have somebody to cover my shift." He looked at me. "What did you say to make her so… agreeable?" I shrugged. He pointed at the door. "Out." I got up and left. Lestrade shook his head and handed the officer a manila folder, took, Stacy's hand and left with me.

"She's never been that nice to anybody. Normally just doesn't talk unless talked to. Seriously, what did you say?" We walked out of the building, and he opened the door to his police car and Stacy got in.

"I just commended on her eyepatch. She said she was Nick Fury. Conversation proceeded." Lestrade laughed and shook his head again.

"Well I'll be off. You have fun with your frying eyeballs or whatever." He waved and got in the car and drove off. I caught a cab and went back to Baker Street. I hadn't been able to solve the case, but I did get an unexpected perk from that experience. I liked Stacy, but not for any reason I could explain. She just seemed… sweet. Likeable. I shook my head and went back to the experiment I had been working on, bacterial growth in stemming conditions. I put Stacy in a room in my mind palace, some were with pirates, then went back to the task at hand.

 **Feeling's are hard to put into words, and nobody knows it better than a writer. Especially writing about Sherlock, who, because he doesn't show his emotions, is very hard to read, to evaluate what he would do in this situation or that problem. So I apologize if he seemed out of character in that chapter. And my creative juicese are NOT flowing, so any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.**


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